


Fade to Black

by Ravager_Zero



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Dark, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravager_Zero/pseuds/Ravager_Zero
Summary: Officer Annalise Corazon discovers something horrific on a routine callout. Someone she knew all too well.





	Fade to Black

**Author's Note:**

> I watched 'harmony/' over the weekend. I'm not sure if that's an excuse or a cry for help at this point. Somehow, after writing this, I'm actually okay.
> 
> …but I still feel like a terrible person.

**Trigger Warnings for Graphic Depictions of Suicide**  
**Trigger Warnings for severe emotional distress**

* * *

Officer Annalise Corazon looked at the address dispatch had given her. She blinked, swallowing hard. She knew that address. Knew it far too well. She also knew how dangerous the occupant was, to herself, more than anyone else. A call at this time was not a good sign. Anna knew what calls like that meant too—it was just no-one in dispatch knew how close she’d become with the young woman living at this address. She was scared of what she might find. Terrified. But better her than one of the rookies, right?  
  
She shivered, climbing out of the cruiser and rushing to the front door, fist slamming against it with empty thuds. On the third slam the door creaked open as the latch popped—it had always been sticky. None of the lights inside were on. Her torch up in her left hand, held at her right shoulder, Anna stepped inside, scanning round, hoping—praying—she wouldn’t see what she was most afraid of. It wasn’t the first time units had responded to this address for this reason—but Anna had told her time and again to call the _ambulance_ , not the police.  
  
“Elsa, what have you done?”  
  
Anna moved forward, past the lounge, shadows jumping as the light from her torch played against the couch, the glass coffee table, and the odd little mirror on the far wall. It was just one of Elsa’s many affectations. She liked to be able to see herself, to see what was real. Shivering again, the night suddenly far colder, Anna made her way into the dining room. The only light came from the kitchen stove, the digits on the clock casting a wan light through both rooms. She’d liked the space as much as Elsa had. The top of the island had also been the scene of more than one frenzied encounter.  
  
Violent or intimate, those encounters were uniquely theirs. She knew there was a risk of losing her job for not reporting this—but she’d at least had the sense to tell Elsa’s therapist about the episodes. They’d been making good progress too, maybe even enough to lower the dose on her meds. _Maybe that’s the reason I’m here tonight_ , Anna thought darkly. Because if Elsa was trying to do something stupidly romantic, there’d at least be some lights on in the house. Or candles, knowing her.  
  
A chill was settling on her spine, and a sense of dread started to fill her stomach. She turned back to the dining room table, spying a half-eaten meal pushed to one side. Sometimes Elsa had problems eating, or would only just pick at her food, trying to make light of the subject. She got angry about it sometimes, always saying she had enough to feel full. But there was that shy look with downcast eyes that said she really did appreciate Anna’s concern for her. More than once that concern had led Anna to check in on her.  
  
But this time, with all the lights off… Anna staggered against the wall of the hallway when a sick premonition entered her mind—Elsa, hair askew, hanging limply from the ceiling. It was far from the first time she’d self-harmed, and neither was it the first time she’d spoken almost casually about methods of committing suicide. Anna swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. Another sordid vision—Elsa, naked, cold, drool caked on her sideways face, lying on the bed, an empty pill bottle in her hand.  
  
“No,” Anna shook her head violently. “No. They only give you a few days at time.”  
  
_Unless she’s been stockpiling them again_ , a treacherous part of her mind spoke up. Anna fell to her knees, torch clattering from numb fingers to roll across the floor. A shadow cast in the next room that looked like a body lying in a heap. Anna rushed over, relieved to find a pile of dirty laundry. A laundry basket had fallen from somewhere higher up. Anna picked up her torch and looked up, dreading what she might see.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Well, the laundry powder was off the top shelf again, but Elsa was always complaining about things being put back in the wrong places when Anna stayed over. Anna continued through the house, pounding on the door to the toilet only to have it fly open into the wall. She turned away, realising that even for Elsa that would be too undignified. She paused at the entrance to the master bedroom—something told her that this place was wrong.  
  
It was one of the few places their intimacy had gone beyond the physical. Far, far beyond. Sometimes Elsa’s pillow talk had been terrifyingly candid—thoughts about death, the meaning of suffering, why she was the one afflicted by these various demons. How some days she lived with an almost constant fear of everything in the world. A tearful confession about how a single visit had saved her life—a knock on the door at exactly the wrong time turned out to be so very right. There were times Anna could recall falling asleep with Elsa cradled in her arms, too afraid to move lest she wake the flighty blonde.  
  
A sudden surge of fear paralyzed her. Surely Elsa would have heard her barging around by now? It wasn’t like she’d made any effort to be quiet moving through the house. Anna reached out against the wall, flicking on the lights. No Elsa. But that only made the urgency of her panic worse. The idea that Elsa might have finally succeeded was all the more terrifying. She turned the light off again, peering out the door into the darkness. She turned slowly, her mouth suddenly dry with fear.  
  
She’d been here once before, but that time it had been dim lights, and a vision in a rose coloured evening gown over ice blue negligé. Then the hint of darkness had been alluring. Right now it was positively terrifying. Dread hung a weight around her neck, causing her breath to catch. There was a light coming from under the ensuite door. No sound, not even quiet splashes or even the expected indignant shout as she began to run.  
  
Anna struggled with the handle, trying to open the door. It was locked from the inside. She swore, and a surge of anger so hot it blinded her gave her the strength to kick the door so hard it almost flew off its hinges. Trembling fingers reached out for the light, not quite daring to flick the switch. The room smelled of lavender and oils, but there was a horrible coppery tang hiding below it. She couldn’t breathe, and she already knew she was too late.  
  
Teardrops pattered softly against the cold tile floor. She couldn’t remember turning on the light. She couldn’t remember when her knees gave out. She just stared at the tiles, the grand blue and white arabesque pattern. Her tears continued to fall, emotion already understanding what logic was only just putting together. _She’s never coming back_. Anna was afraid to look, terrified of bearing witness to the scene before her. She was afraid it might _break_ her—and she’d always been the strong one; beat cop for eight years now.  
  
But somehow Elsa’s very existence had punched clean through that emotional armour. Someone at once vulnerable and vital. Someone who felt insignificant, but who could act larger than life. Someone who had claimed that death was the start of nothing—and that she might be wrong about that too. Someone who fought for what she wanted, but apologised for it all the damn time. Anna couldn’t find the will to look up, let alone stand on her own two feet.  
  
Terror held her paralysed, terror of a kind she’d never even thought _existed_. Her mind was trying to protect her, trying to make her run, seeking refuge in memories they’d made together. Kisses—and how they each claimed their real first was a different kiss. Dates they’d been on, around town, at home, dinner, dancing, movies, ice skating. One raucous night where Elsa had tackled her and pinned her to the couch, tearing madly at her clothes.  
  
Another time, when she ambushed Elsa with the same strategy to get her in the bath. Fights about medication—and not all of them just words. Lectures about why Elsa mattered, to her and to the world. Lessons Elsa had taught her about the stigma facing all those with mental illnesses. Confessions about past suicide attempts. A quiet apology about the time Anna had found her convulsing on the bed.  
  
Another memory of that time, a shivering Elsa in the emergency department, almost crushing Anna’s hand while her stomach was being pumped. The ER staff hadn’t been able to separate them—and they knew Elsa well enough to know that doing so might make things worse. A time when blood had been dripping down Elsa’s arm, deep cuts against her bicep as she tried to feel anything—anything at all—to make the pain outside fill the emptiness within.  
  
The time they made love, on the couch, where Anna had started kissing every scar she could find; Elsa somehow willing to bare more of herself than she ever had before. A fight, some days later, where Elsa had nearly broken her nose. Angry sex. The despair of never being understood. A talk about staring into the abyss, becoming one with it; making friends with demons—allusions to what she really felt.  
  
The feelings crashed over Anna like towering breakers, leaving her adrift in a sea of her own making, struggling just to tread water. Her arms and legs were weak just holding her up on all fours. She felt so heavy, and so empty. Her nails bit deeply into her palms, and her shallow breaths were misting up the tiles beneath her nose. She was weak, and afraid; nowhere near strong enough to bear witness to the empty vessel that had once been her friend and lover.  
  
Even weak as she was, there was no way Anna would force this on anyone else. Elsa was hers—as much in death as she had been in life. _Maybe I really am as selfish_ _as she said_. Her whole body trembling with the effort, Anna pushed herself up off the tiles, willing her eyes to stay open as she looked towards the bath. Halfway to standing she was frozen; transfixed by the tableaux of horror before her.  
  
The least of it was Elsa’s phone, fallen past the side of the bath from pale fingers dripping blood. Her last call showed as 911, barely a minute in length. Crimson splashes stained the screen, hiding any further details. It took a great deal of effort to look any further than that. Anna felt her gorge rise, bile filling her throat. Her eyes followed that congealing blood inexorably back to its source, a three inch slash almost completely through Elsa’s wrist.  
  
Anna turned away, retching over the sink, hyperventilating as nothing came up from her stomach. Everything was crashing down around her, and she’d seen all too clearly just how thorough Elsa had been this time. The blade had cut clean through skin and that tiny layer of fatty tissue to pierce muscle and rip a tendon in front of the radial artery. So much blood—and even as she turned back she knew it looked wrong, because the bath wasn’t pure crimson, but marbled with white soap and bubbles against dark red blood. It was sickening, and yet somehow beautiful. It was the kind of thing Elsa would have appreciated.  
  
That was enough to make Anna vomit, throwing up into the sink, wiping stringy bile from her lips as she flooded the sink with the cold tap, risking just a tiny sip. A proper swallow to clean her mouth and throat. She turned back to Elsa’s body, taking in every detail she wished she could forget. The way Elsa lay, with her head just above the water, platinum hair spreading like a sickly halo, matted heavily with blood. The much cleaner cut in Elsa’s right wrist, still just as deep and fatal, but clearly the one she’d started with. Just beneath the surface was a metallic shine, the blade of the massive carving knife still mostly clean.  
  
Elsa was still wearing clothes. Nightclothes. Silk briefs and a cotton camisole, snow white and stained with blood. Anna couldn’t help a morbid laugh as sobs racked her body. _Still such a prude_. There were worse things to see—to realise. Elsa’s eyes were open, staring at nothing; her lips parted as if awaiting the kiss of death. Anna turned back to the light switch. The switch she had turned on. Elsa had bled out in silence and darkness… and yet the hint of expression on her face wasn’t one of fear or sadness. It was something closer to acceptance. Anna’s fist slammed into the wall, the sudden pain galvanising her. There was… she had to… something. Dispatch. She had to call dispatch. Her right hand closed around the mic on the left shoulder of her vest.  
  
It took a long time before her thumb closed on the transmit button.  
  
“Dispatch?” Anna hoped her voice wasn’t shaking too much.  
  
“Dispatch, copy. Officer Corazon?”  
  
“One vic, suicide. D.O.A.”  
  
“Copy. The coroner is on his way now. Advise if the situation changes.”  
  
“Copy.” Anna couldn’t even crack wise. She rarely did about suicides—but this was something else. She knew she was dangerously close to breaking. “I… I’ll try and find next of kin details. I… I… I hope she had someone.”  
  
“Officer Corazon, did you know the vic personally?”  
  
Anna fell back against the bathroom wall, sinking slowly to the floor, head down, arms around her knees. Wracking sobs began tearing her apart.  
  
“Officer Corazon?” Dispatch sounded concerned.  
  
Anna couldn’t say anything. Her broken voice would give her away. She just clicked her radio twice—a silent acknowledgement. Dispatch was silent after that.  
  
Anna looked around. Twenty minutes until the coroner arrived. Twenty minutes and she couldn’t touch anything. Not even to steal one last kiss. Not even allowed to brush her fingertips against Elsa’s—their own secret, sensuous, greeting. The scene had to be preserved. But the phone—something was drawing Anna to Elsa’s phone, despite police protocol about the matter. She knew Elsa’s passcode. Elsa didn’t know hers—but she’d been okay with it, police officer and all. Anna wiped the blood off with her sleeve and stared blankly at the lock screen. It was a picture of her—and Elsa. Elsa’s lock screen had always been science stuff, or space pictures. The Horsehead nebula had been the most recent.  
  
Anna swallowed hard, knowing this could be even worse… _Than what, finding your lover with her wrists slashed in her own bathtub?_ It would have to be pretty fucking bad to top that one. Her fingers shaking, and her vision still clouded by tears, Anna tapped in the passcode. There were only two items left. One was labelled ‘for doctors’. The other was labelled ‘for Anna’. Anna blinked, fingertip gently pressing against the warm screen, a smear of blood oozing sideways.  
  
All the photos of them. Good times and bad. And with them was a note.  
  
Just one note.  
  
Anna opened it.  
  
_I know you’re probably expecting a suicide note, something explaining why I’m dead, and why I chose to do it some stupidly messy way or something. But this note isn’t that. This note is just for you Anna—you and no one else on this Earth; past, present, or future. I get the feeling that if you were the one that found me your heart would have been ripped out. I hope to God it wasn’t you that found me. If it was, well… what the hell can I say, really? I’ll never be able to make it up to you._  
  
Anna just shook her head. Sometimes Elsa was a prophet. Darkly prophetic, maybe, but still weird like that. Anna wiped away tears with her free hand, scrolling further down the message. On the phone’s tiny screen it looked like a novel.  
  
_You already know I’m dead if you’re reading this, so let’s get on with it. You were the very best part of my life, and even if my life had to end, it was on my terms. At least, I think it was. Maybe that’s the depression speaking. I know you know about mutually assured destruction too—and I don’t mean this probably destroying you. Again, I’m so sorry. There I go, apologising again. I’m taking these demons with me._  
  
And now Anna was tempted to horrendously insult the spirit of her lover, dead or not. Rage and despair were building in equal measure. Something else was building too, an emotion she couldn’t quite name.  
  
_Damn it, this really does look like a suicide note doesn’t it? I mean this is kind of stream of consciousness stuff, which is actually kinda hard on a phone. I want to make you see how you were the best part of my short life, and that this is not your fault. I figure you’ll probably blame yourself anyway. Oh, and when you finish reading this, I want you to check the creation date on the file. Maybe then you’ll see what I mean._  
  
Anna shook her head at the rambling tone, intrigued by the idea she needed to check the creation date on the note. It had to be significant. Her thumb continued to scroll through the message.  
  
_I know you’ll miss me; maybe even pine after me for a while. Is it selfish if I hope you do? Or is it more morbid and macabre? I mean, the dead don’t get to see shit, after all. All those pictures of us—some of them secret—I want you to have. I want to give you solace, though you probably feel like shit after reading this. After hearing I’ve finally killed myself. When I said it was only a matter of time, I wasn’t joking. I knew my days were numbered. Just like everyone else. I just wasn’t handed as many numbers to start with._  
  
There was another morbid laugh behind the tears, and Anna knew it really was Elsa that had written this. Even asking about the dead being selfish, and being confused about it. Making some stupid peace offering. That really was Elsa’s style—and knowing how she felt too.  
  
_I hope that got at least a little laugh. I want to celebrate what we had. Umm, something about videos, but I never did; might hurt your professional reputation. I won’t give you the bullshit about never wanting to hurt you, or anyone. Sometimes I did—although maybe not like this. I knew this would hurt you, but I couldn’t… somehow you… you give this coward courage. Courage enough to leave a world to full of pain._  
  
Anna huffed. _Bitch_. But she wasn’t wrong. It had gotten a laugh. The rest of that paragraph though… the pain was almost too much to bear, almost being able to understand what Elsa had been going through in any way. _She always did have a way with words_. Anna shook her head, hoping the note would ramble on and on, giving her some last glimmer of Elsa’s spirit.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Which sometimes _was_ the extent of Elsa’s wit. Anna wore a fleeting smile. There was still a little more.  
  
_I guess this is a suicide note then. I don’t care about the rest of world, but you… you. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry it has to end like this. I hope you can find happiness again. I hope you can find another love, one day. And maybe I’m being stupid, but one day… one day… I hope that giant, broken heart of yours can forgive me._  
  
The phone fell from limp fingers with a heavy thud, clattering against the tile floor. A single crack split the screen. There could have been nothing more symbolic. On one side was the smiling, effervescent officer Annalise Corazon, pulling the bunny ears. On the other was the quiet, melancholy Elsa Frostad, her eyes gazing forever into empty space, her friend’s bunny ears above her customary braid.  
  
Anna stared sightlessly at the broken phone watching the screen fade to black.


End file.
